


Tea and Blood

by TeruWigFund



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Vampire Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:01:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23459818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeruWigFund/pseuds/TeruWigFund
Summary: Tired of his job at Borgin and Burkes, Tom Riddle takes the caretaker position for the Potter Estate in the countryside of Godric's Hollow.  He isn't sure what it is about Harry Potter that's so strange and offputting, but he's at least better company than the customers at his old job.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 137
Kudos: 410





	1. Godric's Hollow

Borgin and Burkes held such a dusty, rancid air that Tom felt his nose might one day simply fall off his face after suffering through it for years. The wood splintered and stuck in his fingertips. The cold that slipped through the cracks of the building seeped into his skin every winter. The customers that sneered and scoffed filled him with such a rage that he felt he may one day be sent over the edge in a murderous rampage with a body count of five because that was the most customers the run down shack ever saw at a time. 

That last one was strictly said in the most figurative sense, or at least that's what he had told his therapist. His therapist said he was narcissistic, had low empathy for others, and was repressed emotionally. Tom wasn't sure why he paid him, because everything that came out of his mouth was utterly useless and nonsensical. He'd basically been paying to complain about his job to a particularly infuriating wall. In fact, Tom would be inclined to say his time spent in therapy had been completely pointless if not for the parting gift his therapist had bestowed upon him in their last few minutes together. 

A job posting for a caretaker to an estate that resided in the countryside. Not too far from the populated towns around it, but far enough to not have to lay eyes on any of the pathetic souls there while on the grounds. The only person he would have to put up with was the owner of the house, a distinguished individual by the name of Harry James Potter. Tom was sure he would quickly win his way into the man's good graces. 

Unsurprisingly, as of yesterday he had already made a good enough impression on Mr. Potter over the phone that he'd been told to pack his things as soon as he was ready and board the train to Godric's Hollow. Tom had immediately resigned from his position at Borgin and Burkes and packed his meager collection of belongings. If there had been any more trains running that night, Tom would have left immediately. Instead, he patiently waited out the first departure of the morning and, to his pleasant surprise, boarded one of the emptiest trains in the station. 

•••

The long road to the Potter Estate was silent save for the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves. Trees hung over the path in vibrant shades of green, only speckles of light collecting on the ground through the branches. The fresh smell of the grass mixing with recent rain nearly had Tom stopping in his tracks to fully appreciate the air around him. 

He forgot entirely about the delightful sights and smells when he finally stepped out from the canopy of trees and into an open field. Standing in the center of the gentle, waving grass was an old, menacingly large home. Tom stopped breathing as his eyes grazed over intimidating, pointed towers and more windows than he'd ever seen on a house before, the whole home a solid slab of black paint. He couldn't see through to the interior, as the windows were all draped with scarlet curtains or simply too dirty to function properly. 

Yet there was something despite the unwelcoming appearance of it all that curled around him curiously and settled into a pure bliss in his chest. It was a feeling he wasn't sure he had ever experienced before, and Tom felt his fingers subconsciously resting over his warm chest. 

"Tom?" 

Tom inhaled sharply and spun on his heel. He stared at the polite man before him that had somehow appeared without a sound. Vibrant green eyes was all he could look at for probably an embarrassing amount of time, though it wasn't surprising he'd been drawn to them when they were surrounded by such dull, almost corpse-like skin. They were the only splash of color to the man—without them, Tom would be inclined to compare him to a black and white photograph, from his pitch black hair to his pitch black, old fashioned coat. 

"Yes," Tom finally replied, plastering a friendly grin to his face that he hoped hid his original unsettlement. "I apologize, I thought I was alone. You caught me by surprise."

A closed lipped smile stretched over the man's face, though Tom noticed that it didn't seem to reach his eyes. It made him grip the handle of his bag just a bit tighter. 

"No need to apologize," The man said with a light shake of his head. "I was working in the garden and noticed you admiring the house, so I thought I should offer to help with your bag—you must be awfully tired after all." 

"Mr. Potter?" Tom's throat felt oddly like sandpaper, and the air was suddenly _cold_ rather than breezy. He wasn't sure what made him feel so uneasy about the man, especially with his less than threatening skinny frame and slightly shorter stature. Perhaps it was the left over effects of being successfully snuck up on—or the odd coldness to such bright green eyes.

The man reached for the handle of his bag and Tom hesitantly let it slip from his fingers. He immediately started walking through the knee-length grass towards the imposing house, not looking to see whether Tom followed or not.

"I should have introduced myself," He let out a light laugh, and Tom felt as if the cold had been stripped away as suddenly as it had settled over them. "I'm Harry. I'm incredibly grateful that you took this job, Tom, it gets rather lonely in Godric's Hollow." 

As Mr. Potter opened the rather ornate front door, Tom cleared his throat in an attempt to collect himself. 

"I'm very grateful for the opportunity, Mr. Potter. I look forward to working for you." Tom said with the most pleasing tone he could produce. It came rather easily to him after years of pretending to care about customers that barged their way into Borgin and Burkes. 

Mr. Potter set Tom's suitcase lightly on the floor beside a staircase, turning to look at him with a focused stare before he spoke.

"Call me Harry." 

Tom would have taken it as a friendly request, but there was a low note somewhere in his tone. It was more a command than an offering of familiarity. 

"Well, Harry," Tom said with the slightest hesitation. "I'm glad to be here."


	2. First Impressions

"Your room."

Harry flicked the lights on and Tom blinked in pleasant surprise. The attic had a much more spacious bedroom than he would have thought. It was beautifully decorated with dark wood furnishings and deep green fabrics, and the bed was bound to be the most comfortable one he had ever slept in—and the most well crafted. The posts were carved into magnificent bunches of flowers, and a silver curtain draped down to surround it. Tom had never lived in such an undoubtedly expensive room.

"This is incredibly generous," Tom said as he turned toward Harry. Oddly enough his eyes were already on Tom, with a studying attentiveness to them. He reminded him of an unblinking cat. 

That was fine. Tom had dealt with plenty of odd customers before, and none had ever paid him as much as Harry was, let alone given him a room fit for the richest of them.

Harry broke his focus on Tom to glance about the room almost dazedly. 

"I haven't been here in awhile," He started in a voice that was low enough to be more for himself than his company. His eyes flicked up to meet Tom's and his voice regained a sense of purpose. "If you need anything for it, tell me." 

Tom couldn't imagine this room was missing anything, but even less likely was the chance of him seeking out whatever strange sense of help Harry was bound to give. However, Tom gave a polite smile and nod that seemed to satisfy Mr. Potter, because he finally broke his focused eye contact and his body seemed to reanimate itself from his stock-still posture.

"My room is in the basement," Harry said, already striding into the hallway. "I don't like to be disturbed, so please knock first if you need me." 

"I will," Tom called. He nearly settled onto the bed to begin unpacking, but a thought suddenly struck him. He shot out of the bedroom and into the hall in an attempt to catch Mr. Potter, who was already staring at him with owlish eyes. Tom mentally kicked himself for hurrying in such an undignified manner. A little too late, he realized he'd simply been standing in the hallway staring _back_ at Harry without saying a word.

"How do you like your tea?" Tom asked, hoping his confident tone made up for a fraction of his embarrassing conduct. 

Harry glanced at the wall as if he was having trouble thinking of an answer off the top of his head.

"With milk and sugar," He finally murmured.

Mr. Potter was lucky to have found a caretaker with as good of manners as Tom, because he felt that if anyone else were here in his shoes they wouldn't know how to respond to Harry's odd ways of conducting himself. 

"Milk and sugar, then," Tom said pleasantly. "Goodnight, Harry."

Harry blinked at him for a few moments. 

"Goodnight." 

He watched him turn and head down the stairs silently. 

Tom would be first to admit that neither of them had made the most respectable impressions that night, but the next morning was going to be his reset. He would get up earlier than Mr. Potter, he would get some cleaning started and then have tea ready for him when he woke. 

Tom was never one to settle for leaving a mediocre impression.

•••

As the sun was just starting to filter through the tall windows (finally functional with what Tom assumed was fifty years of grime scrubbed off), he was finally finishing the last of the dusting. Tom may have only had a nap before his late night cleaning spree, but he felt energized at all he had accomplished. All before Mr. Potter had even opened an eye. He was sure to be impressed, even a man as aloof as himself could see how much Tom had already turned this home around. 

Just as he was going to settle into one of the wooden chairs at the kitchen table for a quick break, he froze. 

The front door handle was turning. Tom was fairly certain it was just him and Mr. Potter living in this house. His eyes quickly scanned the kitchen counter for knives—a caretaker that stopped a break in _after_ cleaning the whole house would be infinitely more impressive. 

The door swung open, but Tom froze midway in his reach towards the counter. Instead of a shifty looking criminal, it was the unkempt hair of Mr. Potter that walked through the door. 

"Good morning," Tom said brightly, though he felt anything but bright. He had gotten up _so early_ in an attempt to beat his potentially early riser boss. It was almost satisfying to see Harry's shoulders jump and his eyes blown with surprise when Tom's unexpected voice rang out. 

"I'll make you some tea," Tom had to fight to keep a smile from his lips at the spooked look that was still settled over Mr. Potter. At least he'd had _some_ form of upper hand from all of this. 

Mr. Potter said nothing, but after a few moments of watching Tom set up the teapot he settled into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Tom couldn't help but glance at the state of him. His clothes, _the same clothes he wore yesterday, he might add,_ were disheveled and covered in dirt stains, and his eyelids drooped like he was exhaustedly fighting to stay conscious. 

"What had you up so early?" Tom tried to fill the silence as he busied himself in his search for teacups. 

"Gardening," Harry said, brushing some of the dirt from his sleeve onto the floor. The floor that had already been swept by Tom at an ungodly hour of the night. 

"You garden at night?" He finally opened a cupboard with two matching styles of expensive looking cups, though in different beautifully painted shades. A scarlet cup that seemed to match the curtains, and a vivid green cup that immediately reminded Tom of Mr. Potter's attentive eyes. He'd be sure to give the green to him. 

"It's quieter at night."

That struck Tom as a very odd reason to be gardening at such a time, but then again Mr. Potter just seemed to be an odd man in general. Maybe calling him an eccentric would explain everything away in one fell swoop. 

As the teapot whistled, Tom grabbed the two cups and spun around to quiet it. Though instead of gracefully multitasking as he'd planned, Tom's shoe caught against the uneven floorboard on the way and he helplessly pitched forward. 

The sound that a shattering tea cup makes, he found, was far more painful than his body hitting the floor. Tom quickly gathered himself up to start cleaning, but he froze at the feeling of someone _looming_ over his crouched body. Tom glanced up and immediately blinked in surprise at the bright green teacup that sat in Mr. Potter's palms. He looked as if he were frozen mid catch, eyes wide. 

"I'm so sorry," Tom winced, quickly picking up pieces of shattered ceramic. If he cleaned it up fast enough that would be one less thing he'd have to listen to Mr. Potter scream about. 

Harry delicately settled the green teacup on the counter before crouching down in front of him, and Tom braced himself. He was already prepared to pack his things upstairs.

"It's fine."

Tom faltered. _Nothing?_ Mr. Potter himself was collecting shards of teacup in front of him, as if he really didn't care about a slip up that would cost him money. 

In Tom's confused daze, he felt a pointed edge dig into his skin. He dropped the piece that was in his fingers with a quiet curse and watched as blood began to bead across his palm, the color nearly matching the broken cup on the floor. 

He was going to brush it off and keep cleaning, but Tom didn't fail to notice the sudden rigidity to Mr. Potter's shoulders, and the tightening of his jaw. The man closed his eyes and struggled to steady his breathing through flared nostrils. Suddenly things clicked into place and Tom felt his mouth curve up a bit at the edges. He stood up. 

Harry didn't have to say he was afraid of blood, Tom was observant enough to make up for the man's pride, or perhaps simple lack of social skills. As he rinsed his hand in the sink, he heard Harry's strangled voice croak out behind him. 

"Bandages upstairs, in the closet." 

"Thank you," Tom dried his hands and looked down at Harry, still on the floor. He thought he could almost see him trembling, and a little bit of guilt settled over him. He'd already ruined the man's cup, Tom couldn't believe he'd reduced him to a pathetic heap on the floor on top of that. 

As Tom left Harry to get himself under control and find a bandage, he noticed he felt lighter with each step. As strange as Harry was, he was patient and generous, and Tom came to the realization that he hadn't interacted with someone like that in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't judge Tom and Harry because I leave the most mortifying first impressions 😔


	3. Red Lilies

Tom's fingers curled around a lavender colored teacup as he scrutinized its every curve and paint chip, though he quickly set it down. This one's quality wasn't nearly high enough. 

Tom had set off to buy them groceries in the little town nearby, and though he had everything he needed in his bag, he was still searching every odd shop he came across. He'd hoped to find a replacement for the teacup he'd shattered, but he hadn't come across one that was anything like Harry's. He idly wondered where he could've gotten such a cup, because it clearly hadn't been from this town.

As Tom turned to leave the shop for another undoubtedly disappointing one, he paused mid stride. A vivid shade of red peeked out from the corner of the shop, and he was immediately reminded of the deep, mesmerizing color of the shards that littered the floor the previous night. Tom was quick to snatch up the pot the beautiful plant was sprouting from. Large, unfurling petals stared him in the face until he'd made his decision. 

"The red lilies just bloomed," The cashier said cheerfully as Tom set them on the counter. 

They weren't the cheapest flowers he'd ever seen, but Tom supposed he could afford them now with his generous caretaker's salary. Besides, the color was too perfectly matched to Harry's taste in teacups, and not to mention fit extraordinarily well with his bit of obsessive love for gardening. 

Tom left the shop with groceries slung over his shoulder and a large plant wrapped in his arms, smug smile curled on his lips. The flowers were incredibly well cared for and he had the feeling that Mr. Potter would appreciate them much more than a teacup anyways. He seemed to always be mentioning gardening, but Tom had never seen him thrilled when it was time for tea.

Or any meal, really. 

Tom's smug expression turned to a frown as he thought back on the few days he'd already spent with Mr. Potter. Each meal Harry would push his food around a bit and take a small bite, but ultimately he would leave his plate unscathed. The man was so scrawny and gaunt as it was, Tom would hate to make him worse off by making him meals he wouldn't eat. 

He would have to get the man's favorite foods out of him if he didn't want his boss to starve.

•••

"Harry?" Tom called as he shut the front door behind him.

He set the groceries on the table and wondered if Mr. Potter had heard him, or was even home at all. The sound of footsteps on the stairs quickly filled his ears though and as soon as the door to the basement had opened, Tom heard his voice.

"Yes?" 

He was quick to scoop up the flowers and turn just in time for Harry to round the corner and stop in his tracks. 

"You already have an admirer?" Harry asked, blinking at the armful of exploding red petals. 

"These are for you," Tom supplied helpfully, holding them out in front of him. "As an apology for the teacup." 

Harry looked even more confused than he had before, but he hesitantly reached out his arms to envelope the plant. He pulled it closer to his chest and examined them for what felt like eternity, running a delicate finger over one of the petals. 

"For me?"

Tom was surprised to see a grin spread across Harry's cheeks and immediately felt a flutter of pride. His choice in gift hadn't fallen short like all his other attempts to impress him. Even if it looked like Harry was trying to tame the corners of his pleased smile, the flowers had obviously been a success.

"Thank you," Harry's voice was the brightest Tom had heard it since his arrival in Godric's Hollow. When he looked up, Tom was glad to see that his eyes had become just as lively. There wasn't a speck of the far off look they often possessed, and the green had become an impressive shade in its absence.

Tom jumped at the chance to utilize Mr. Potter's sudden good mood. 

"I was planning on eating lunch in town," Tom said as he began to put groceries away, as if the idea had just come to him and only deserved half his attention. "Would you like to come with me?" 

If he could simply take note of what Mr. Potter ordered, he would have a better idea what to make him at mealtimes. Maybe then his boss wouldn't starve to death, and his new job wouldn't come to an end so soon.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tom saw Harry glancing between him and the flowers in his arms, an almost fretful air to him.

"In town?" Harry asked, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet. 

"Unless that's an issue?" Tom wondered what was so nerve wracking about eating in town. Perhaps it was simply Mr. Potter's reclusive personality that made him fidgety at the mere thought of public activities. 

"No, no, I–" Harry blurted after a moment, glancing at the red lilies one last time. "I'll go." 

"Excellent," Tom replied, flashing Harry a grin. The man seemed torn, standing in the entryway with his flowers and nervous shifting from foot to foot, but his eyes were still bright as they watched Tom go about his business. 

Tom's smile didn't fade as he finished with the groceries. His first attempts at impressing Mr. Potter had failed, but he felt that he'd finally found his footing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> be honest would you go to lunch with your caretaker even tho you couldnt eat anything just because he was a little charming 🤔


	4. The Sunrise Tavern

The sky was a stunning shade of blue, unscathed by clouds. It was the nicest weather Godric’s Hollow had experienced since Tom moved in, bathed in a nicely warm temperature and just the slightest of breezes. Tom had left his coat at home, and even wished that he may have had some lighter clothes than the dress pants he’d thrown on, but if he was regretting his clothing choices he couldn’t begin to imagine what Harry must have been feeling. 

The man was covered from his neck to his toes, with a coat to top it off. It looked to be of very nice quality, a velvety black with the barest hint of a dark floral pattern when the fabric would shift. Harry may have been committed to his sense of style, but oddest of all was the sleek, matching umbrella that bobbed while he walked. 

There wasn’t a cloud in sight, and Tom doubted there would be for days to come. He had even offered to hold the umbrella for him, just in case Mr. Potter was simply a man that always liked to be prepared and brought one purely for the chance they may be caught in the rain later. He had refused to hand the thing over. The more houses and shops that started popping up around them as they entered town, the more Tom found himself prickling with embarrassment. Everybody was bound to notice the one umbrella, puffed open like a beacon in their midst.

Oddly enough, Harry seemed more on edge than Tom was. He bit at his lip and stared with unfocused eyes straight ahead, like he was blindly following Tom and didn’t have a care for their scenery at all. His fingers were a noticeably tight fist around the handle of his umbrella. If his strange choice in clothing worried him as well, Tom wondered why he bothered to stubbornly wear them while going into town.

“I haven’t had a chance to try the food here,” Tom said, and Harry’s head snapped up from his dazed stupor. “It’s always smelled delightful, though. I hope there will be something you enjoy.”

Harry blinked and refocused his eyes on the small brick cottage ahead of them, with its swinging sign that declared it to be _The Sunrise Tavern_. In truth, the biggest contributor to Tom’s choice in dining location had been the overflow of flowers spilling from the window baskets, and the beautifully cared for potted plants that were the centerpiece of every outdoor table. The one thing that had worked out well for Tom so far had been Harry’s love of well tended plants, and he planned to use it to his advantage until he weaseled more of his interests out of him. 

These plants didn’t seem to interest Mr. Potter at all, though. Tom wasn’t sure why, because even without an interest in gardening he had been incredibly impressed with these flowers while passing by earlier that week. All the petals were vibrant pinks and reds, and they exploded in large bundles everywhere one looked. Even the hummingbirds and butterflies seemed impressed, as they flitted about every which way to sample all that they could.

Yet Harry stood still, eyes darting in a nervous fashion and nails digging into the skin of his other wrist, hard enough to already see the red crescent marks they were leaving. It wasn’t until Tom picked up on the slightest shake of his limbs and the light sheen of sweat on his brow that he was hit with a sudden thought.

Tom shifted closer to Harry and knelt his head slightly. He didn’t want the couple of occupied tables to eavesdrop on the man’s business.

“Are you ill?” 

“Excuse me?” Harry’s brows furrowed, but Tom knew there was something wrong. The sickly shade of his skin, the heavy coat in this heat, his clear difficulty focusing; illness made sense. Tom wondered how long he had been in bad health. Was that the reason he’d needed a caretaker in the first place?

“You don’t have to tell me any specifics if you don’t want to,” Tom said in what he hoped was an understanding tone. “But the more I know, the better I can help you.” 

“I’m not—” 

Harry cut off in an abrupt swear, his wide eyes focusing on something behind Tom. Before he could turn to see what it was, there was the sudden shout of a man. 

“Potter, you better get yourself out of here before I get you out myself!”

Tom turned to the sight of a tall, furious looking individual stomping his way over from the entrance of the tavern. From his stained white apron draped around his neck, Tom could tell he must be one of the cooks. Harry stood rather rigidly in place.

“I never thought I’d see you here in the light of day, you freak," the stranger growled.

The punch happened quicker than Tom could even think to intervene. Harry was on the ground with a hesitant hand to his cheek and his jaw moving in discomfort. Tom looked back up at the livid man, his fist still partially raised in the air and his perfectly groomed hair now out of place. He gaped for a moment, looking between Mr. Potter sprawled in the dirt and the tavern worker, standing with clenching fists and bulging grey eyes.

The man reached for something against the cottage wall behind him, and when he brought his arms back above him, a shovel glinted beneath the brilliant sun. It began to come down in an arc.

“We’re leaving.”

The shovel faltered mid swing, as if its wielder had forgotten there was anyone else there at all. Both his and Harry's faces turned to stare at Tom with differing degrees of surprise.

“Unless you’d prefer I grab the authorities,” Tom’s voice was level, and he knew his stare had to be too. He’d had plenty of practice with the look before.

“Who’s this?” The man spat.

“Tom Riddle,” He said, as if he were simply introducing himself to a new acquaintance. 

As Tom reached a hand down, Harry blinked his wide eyes a moment before he grabbed it in his own. When Tom pulled him up, he heard the man beside them give a disgusted laugh, accompanied by the thunk of the shovel hitting the hard dirt.

“Tom Riddle,” The man said with a mocking smile spread across his lips. “You’re not from around here. You better pack your bags and leave while you can.”

Tom resisted a sigh of exhaustion and picked up the umbrella that had rolled away from Harry when he fell. It was more dust and dirt than sleek black fabric at this point. Harry took it with a short “Thank you,” and turned to take even strides off of the tavern’s property without a single hesitation. He thought Mr. Potter was simply going to leave the place without another glance, but his face turned back to stare at the man one last time. 

His green eyes were filled with a frigid, poisonous look. He was awfully still.

Unnaturally still.

Tom felt his own skin crawl a bit, but it couldn’t be anything compared to what the fair-haired man felt. He stood there, leaning against his shovel, and looked as haunted as if he were staring at his own blood draining in pools from his body. When Tom reached Harry’s side, the eerie stillness vanished in a second. Harry turned his eyes to the empty road and started his way back to the Potter Estate without a single word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for disappearing for months 😰  
> Is there someone you would fight On Sight if they walked up while you were at work? 🤔  
> And better yet, would you smack them with a shovel 😩


	5. A Very Mr. Potter-Esque Lunch

Tom sat down beside Harry on an ornate rusting bench, their arms filled with various foods. They had given up on a proper lunch and settled on collecting random, ready to eat items from the market, and came back with bread, cheeses and fruits. It wasn’t at all what Tom had been hoping to gain from this day out, and he was rather frustrated that he still didn’t have an inkling as to what to feed his boss other than bland bread and odd cheeses. 

He supposed things could have turned out much worse though. He was lucky he hadn’t been fired on the spot for bringing Mr. Potter to a dusty little cottage just to have his face assaulted and his reputation insulted. He’d been rather surprised when he’d tried to apologize on their walk back and Harry so easily waved away any blame. He even seemed a smidgen excited when Harry himself suggested they still have their lunch in the comfort of the Potter Estate’s grove of trees. 

Tom had to admit, despite the failure to learn anything new about Harry, the atmosphere was much more enjoyable than anything he could have found in town. The overgrow of trees around them cast them in a soothing shade, and the gentle sound of the light rustling leaves was a far more soothing sound than the bustling of busy townsfolk. Harry’s umbrella was closed and lay neatly beside their bench.

Everything seemed better here. Even Harry’s unruly hair seemed less of an untameable mess and more of a charming dishevelment. The light wind brushed it aside and rustled locks of hair gently around his face. He looked content. He seemed so very at ease despite the tension he had held their whole time in town.

Tom had been so closely observing Harry’s state that when his green eyes lifted from the cheese he was cutting, he found himself surprised out of a stupor. Harry stared at him, as if waiting for something.

“What did you say?” Tom asked almost sheepishly, realizing he was waiting for a response to some question he'd asked.

“Do you want one?” Harry held out a slice of fresh bread with neatly cut cheese atop it. He was kind enough not to laugh or crack a smile at Tom’s lack of focus. The tree grove was far too relaxing to make him act so embarrassingly. 

“Thank you."

He accepted the bread with careful fingers and took a single bite, but he didn’t take any more than that. He may have, if Harry hadn’t been watching him instead of eating. Tom swallowed his bite and brushed away the few crumbs that had fallen to his lap. Harry still stared. _What did he want?_

“Harry.”

“Yes?” Harry seemed wholly unphased by being caught staring, and it threw Tom off. He couldn’t simply ask _why are you staring at me_ without offending the man, but now Harry was waiting for the question that Tom had for him. He paused a moment.

“Who was that man at the tavern?” He supplied conversationally. He hoped his discomfort was easily hidden by his practiced charm.

Harry held his stare a moment more, but it didn’t last for long. He looked down at his hands and began cutting cheese once more. Tom wondered if he actually planned to eat some or if he just needed something to do with his hands. 

“Draco Malfoy,” Harry said simply, and then waved his knife in a little emphasis. "Just an old acquaintance.” 

Tom raised his eyebrows. “It didn’t seem like he thought of you as a simple acquaintance.” 

Harry shrugged with the cheese and knife in either hand.

“A bitter acquaintance,” He said with a light furrow to his brows.

Tom felt the hollow, awkward silence that followed like a weight on his shoulders. He finished his bread as he contemplated the ‘bitter acquaintance’ Malfoy, and Harry continued to slice cheese in silence, never taking a single bite. It was an odd lunch, but he shouldn’t have expected any different of an outcome with Mr. Potter.

As soon as he turned to say something, another piece of bread was held out to him. Tom stared at it a moment, but when he looked up at Harry’s expectant eyes on him he had no choice but to reluctantly take it. He held it, but simply stared at Harry, whose gaze had not wavered.

“Are you not hungry?” Harry asked after a moment, and it sounded more like genuine confusion than a polite inquiry.

“I’m fine,” Tom said. “Are _you_ not hungry? You haven’t eaten anything.”

Harry’s lips tightened a moment before he gave a slight shake of his head. 

“You have to be, we skipped breakfast.” Tom sighed. 

He was at a loss for how to get Harry to eat something. He was bewildered that the man was even still alive at this point. After a moment of thought, Tom leaned in slightly and raised his second piece of bread up in the space between them. Harry looked questioningly, and Tom stretched his arm until his hand was stopped just before Harry’s face.

“You can have mine,” Tom stated. “I’m not hungry anymore, and it would be a waste to throw this away.”

Harry’s mouth was gaped slightly, and his eyes flitted between the offering and Tom’s waiting figure. It seemed they were both unmoveable, and Tom was not going to be the one that backed down in the end. His many attempts at finding Harry’s favorite food weren’t going to succeed, but maybe his sheer determination to get him to eat would.

As Harry began to move, Tom felt the slightest smirk fall upon his lips. He had finally won over the man’s distaste for eating. As quick as the smug feeling of pride came though, it was snuffed out in an instant. 

The instant Harry’s lips barely grazed Tom’s fingertips. 

Tom was shocked into stillness. Where he had fully expected for the bread to be taken from his expectant hand, Harry was leant forward and taking a careful bite of it straight from Tom’s fingers. 

The moment his heart began to beat at an odd pace against his ribcage, Harry drew back in a quick, sudden motion. He looked pointedly at the bread instead of Tom’s face, and brought a single hand up to ruffle his already unkempt hair.

“I’m sorry, I thought you meant—”

“It’s alright,” Tom clipped. His hand stayed frozen in its raised offer before he thought to rest it by his side once more. 

Though he was carefully looking at the leaf strewn ground now, Tom lifted his eyes for only a second to glimpse the few crumbs that were left beside Harry’s mouth; and strangely enough, how unbruised the skin beside it was. As if he’d never been punched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I too would slice cheese for all eternity to avoid socializing properly

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this reads okay!! I really wanted to write some vampire au and thought maybe others were out there craving that vampire content 👌👌


End file.
